Source

Sylvia Kelso

Chapter 5

Iskarda.

4^th Day, First Summer Moon.

Tellurith—

My hand is shaking too much

#

Evidently even cider can be a restorative. If Fetha does think me an irreclaimable lunatic, to raid the kitchen in the first hour of the day.

Tellurith—I cannot think how to begin this. What am I —how am I to—

I had a dream.

#

I know what you will say. Would say, if you ever set eyes on this, and the chance thins every day. Did you get any of my letters, Tellurith? Do you know what quagmires I founder in, while you sail upRiver on your stainless Quest?

Let us assume that you have read them both. And can remember what I said to you, that day a moon ago, when Tez had cracked my world and Asaskian—offered to carry away the bits.

Well. It is easy enough to live with a cracked world. Especially once you have the way of it, and I learnt the way long ago. And it is easier yet to dance the delaying waltz, I was schooled in that at thirteen years old.

It pains me cruelly to admit she has been more patient and more loving, and the gods cover me, more constant, than any man I ever watched in such a case. And I have kept putting her off, and hoping against hope that news would come. That a letter would come. That by some god’s grace you would have received my distress signals, and written me some clean way out.

The news has not helped. Oh, nothing serious here in Iskarda. The worst trials have been another cutter’s collapse, with a full order for the Dhasdein temple facade in progress, and the thrice-damnable waterpipes. You know—yes, you would remember they were going to cast the pipes on a long-spindled wheel? That is easy enough: what is not easy is to cast pipes, three or five feet long, whose mouths will mate exactly. When you are throwing them by hand.

And from two different potters’ shops, since Dhera, the other whose cutter died, has set up to help the Iskardans. Charras tell me she has a very good hand, thanks to working with the qherrique.

Outside Iskarda? The shock of Amberlight’s—revolution—still reverberates the River’s length: there has been a flood of intelligencers, Tez reports, from Dhasdein and Verrain both. Meanwhile, neither Antastes nor Shuya have hurried to recognize the new “commonwealth.”

And there is trouble in Amberlight itself.

Ah, Tellurith, you know you could have predicted it. Do we—humans—and gods be kind to us, in especial, human men—can we learn anything?

Because they are causing faction in the commune: what else would you expect, after your own lesson in Iskarda? There has been contumely, bad blood, spiteful opposition, claims for more than their just desserts, if not yet outright battery and rape.

After all, there never was a matriarchy in River Quarter, just an armistice the Houses enforced. And the qherrique. And there are no Uphill men now. None with the vision of Sarth, let be the courage and patience to practice equity in a new world.

So your little visionary contends with outright threats in her assembly-room, while out on the streets women who worked as stevedores are rumbling that they are no weak-limbed Uphill virgins, they can beat the lesson of equality into male malcontents’ heads for themselves.

You need no more telling than I do, that the intelligencers will stir whichever pot promises advantage to Dhasdein or Verrain.

So far, so much as I can tell, they have not seen greater vantage in bringing the government down.

#

I have talked myself composed. Have had time to wash and breakfast, and immure myself here in the workroom before needing to confront it again.

The dream.

Very well, I will confess I was piqued and I was exasperated with her fidelity, and hating myself for the exasperation and aching to be free to—make myself a fool elsewhere. So I lay in my cubby last night and straightly made it a dare. Here I am, I said. Where, presumably you wanted me. Or if not, I am a part of Tellurith’s plan. And Tellurith’s plan is yours, mystery. So if you want your plan to work, answer me now. Prove yourself a presence or a sentience or a divinity. Reach out, openly, palpably, and tell me what to do.

And it did.

I understand what you mean now. That message is indeed unmistakable. Terrifying as a god’s voice in truth.

For all that mine was so simple, of such brevity. A snatch of heartbeats in those guest rooms of mine in Riversend, an ice-crisp winter morning: and you, Tellurith. With Sarth, and Tez, and open consternation at a council’s end. You are turning from Sarth, with that look that says you have just leapt again where only visionaries can go. As you say, obviously answering his question, “Maybe, it’s time the House had men who were there in their own right.”

I know the flowers on the table, the chair Tez stands beside, Sarth’s elegantly understated indoor coat. Terracotta wool, bought and tailored somewhere in Riversend. I know the leggings you wear, dun with honorable discredit from that sampan of yours, under that ancient gray and green checked shirt. You are fully five months on, yet the pregnancy hardly shows.

It is all completely familiar. Except I know—I know! that I never heard those words with mortal ears.

An omen, then. As this, here on the page, is my own inner oracle. Telling me that now I have an ally, an ally whose weight is indubitable. Certifiable truth.

#

Dhe’s eyes, why do I persist in inciting calamity with such arrogance?

No doubt you will have seen ahead and be laughing already. Or tearing your hair over your outland experiment’s imbecility. I admit that, surely.

Which I did not do when I paraded up the hill to Darthis’ house, and requested an interview. In her—parlor, I suppose. Certainly a guest room, from the immaculate neglect and ponderous furniture. Where she gave me all the other marks of a ranking woman’s visit, I understand now, down to sitting across the table where one of the men had set out wine. So, after a sip, I drew myself up and announced, with all the pride of my fatuity, “Ruand, I have had a dream. From the qherrique.”

Did you ever see Darthis leap clean out of a chair?

May the River-lord help me, that was the least of it. She called a council on the spot. Whirled me down into your old council room, actually gripped my shoulder as she announced in their astounded faces, “He has had a dream. From the qherrique.”

Picture your Craft-heads, your Steward, dancing up and down, over-shouting each other, quarrelling outright, while Darthis and her cohorts contended through the wrack. Pass over the disbelief and outrage and the demands to be told, How? Pass over the speculations, from some sort of blood-affinity to the unthinkable of a man with a cutter’s ear. I supposed I should thank the gods for Alkhes, who bore the first reaction to a man having anything at all to do with qherrique.

They had shouted that out, and got past schemes to notify you, Tellurith, and plans to test the other House-men, and postulations about my use, from Quetho’s idea that I could take shifts with a cutter to Charras’ arguing that I could dream a way to fix the pipes; when Zdana rose at Darthis’ elbow and used what, I am told, was the Mother’s Voice.

“We should speak this,” she said, “in the Mother’s Ear.”

The Telluir folk gave me one look and shut up. I did not know what she meant: but I have instincts, after all.

Charras opened her mouth. Zdana stared at her. “It’s no more,” she said, “than we asked of the Stheir.”

When Hayras spluttered Zdana gave her a glare for herself. “Whose Word do we need more? What better, surer way to know we have it in all truth?”

Iatha split a look between Zdana and Darthis, with a tuck of the mouth that told me I did not want any more of Zdana’s plan, and the colder knowledge that Darthis would not protest. Then she turned her Steward’s scrutiny and overspoke them all.

“What,” she asked me, “did you dream?”

I daresay you can credit, amid the hullabaloo, that none of them had thought to ask.

Afterwards there was silence in earnest: and that trading of eye-talk that drives me crazy because I still cannot read the code. Before Darthis looked at Iatha, and raised her brows, and Iatha cocked hers in turn, and Darthis inclined her head: all of which I translated as an exchange over precedence, before Iatha spoke.

To Darthis, as if I did not exist. Saying, “That would be an excellent reason, after all.”

I was—I will freely admit, lady Tellurith, I was myself somewhat out of balance. Which is reason, if not exculpation, for the way I snapped, “Reason for what?”

They all looked at me then. With some astonishment, which I ought to take as compliment, that I had not followed from the start. Before Iatha said, “A House-woman has offered you troth.”

I took in my breath. “Madam, I am somewhat obtuse today. Surely the qherrique’s answer is clear enough?”

Iatha passed that to Darthis. Who studied me, gravely as a Court judge pronouncing sentence of death.

“The message is clear,” she said, in that boulder-roll of a voice. “The Mother has gifted us another Ear for the qherrique. It is not a gift we should waste.”

I thought myself skilled and steeped in intrigue, in politics. I understood, I thought, marriage ties: after all, I managed them three times myself. But I do not, I will freely confess it, begin to imagine the premises from which your women work. I only thought she meant Zdana’s plan: and that, may the River-lord see me, promised badly enough.

I said, “The Mother’s Ear?”

Iatha gave a snort. Zdana was scandalized. Iatha took pity on me—my voice must have cried I was beleaguered enough—and said it aloud.

“The Mother’s Ear hears Her words. For the questions the Mother will not answer, her Chosen asks. Not the priestess. The—Chosen for the year.”

I must have looked blanker than ever. She finished explosively, “He’s a man.”

“You want me to be Chosen?”

I might have assaulted Antastes. It was Verrith who leant past the nearest Iskardan to slap me hard on the arm, as much warning as solidarity, before she snapped, “He has no idea what it means!” And to me, “No, man, no. She just wants you to Ask.”

I could hear the capital. My spine crept. “Ah—Ruands—”

“No,” said Darthis flatly. “That may come. But it is not what the message means.”

“Then. . .?” I have seldom played an Iskardan man in truth.

It was Iatha who met my eye and supplied brusquely, “What Iskarda’s Ruand means is that we have a man who can hear qherrique and a House-woman asking his troth. And it’s not a blood to waste.”

Do you know what it is, Tellurith, to think you have found a sure refuge from all besetments, and discover it a trap?

I think I said, “But—” staring and spluttering like the most callow intriguer ever snared. “But the message was, No!”

Iatha looked past me. I could not meet the hunger in Zdana’s eyes. Charras and Quetho and Hayras squirmed and Verrith dodged my gaze. Darthis held it. Solidly and blankly as that boulder on which they sacrifice.

“You asked me,” she said, “for advice.”

With an emphasis on “me” that told me plainly, And a greater has answered you.

“But the dream—the qherrique—Tellurith herself said, Men in their own right!”

“It will,” Darthis responded, “be in your own right.”

Because I had dreamed. Because I might transmit the capacity. Message clear enough for insult at any other time, that they would have married me into their House for nothing less.

“Ruands—!”

I ought to have been able to manage more. If I had not been so shaken by the dream itself, and then so thankful for what I thought a refuge beyond test, and then so—so confounded by the way they meant to twist the thing—still, I suppose I should have been able to fight back. And yet—

And yet I kept remembering Darthis that day on the mountainside, saying, “She must mean you for more than making tally-marks.”

For once Amberlight training was on my side. Charras took one look at me and stood up, saying firmly, “This has been a shock to all of us. Let the man take a rest and think it through.”

So now I have to face it for myself. Alone. The question of all questions that I need to ask of you, Tellurith.

Is this what you wanted? Is this all you needed? Solely the virtues of my seed?

And if it is not your plan—then is it the qherrique’s? Have I been betrayed, even by that dream?

Even by what may be—in good truth—a god?

Or have they—have we betrayed the god instead?

#

Amberlight.

24^th Day, First Summer Moon.

I must admit, Tellurith, that I am now in confusion so complete not even gods could get me out.

You see the direction of this. Yes, all—well, two of my desires have been fulfilled. I am clear of Asaskian, and I am in Amberlight.

I imagine you knitting your brows at the thought. As I did, for all of thirty seconds, as I weighed the possibility of drawing Antastes’ attention, of appearing too forward in state matters, and affrighting the empire with the specter of Riversrun’s Suzeraine resurrected, on the other side. To be sure, Tellurith, I did consider it. But—

But beyond my own concerns, that letter bore a summons I could not deny.

She asked for me especially, Tellurith. “From the Commune of Amberlight to the folk of Telluir House. The Commune urgently requests that the House temporarily second Tanekhet, their adviser on River affairs, to Amberlight. Signed, the Commune-leaders for First Summer Moon, Dhanissa and Ferrias, representatives for the River Quarter of Amberlight.”

I may be more than breeding stock, after all.

Though I must be honest here if nowhere else. If you are breeding for intelligence, Tellurith, you had best discard me now.

Because I did not have the wit the River-lord gave a sparrow, to say, “Send me across the Kora, it may be rough and slow but it’s most direct.” I let them—Dhe scourge me, I egged them on to send me to Marbleport, because it would be easier on my fragile health—I, who have caught an hour’s sleep between orgy and council for half my life! conceding it would be easier to ride fifty miles muleback on a good road and then sail Upriver, when—

When all I really wanted was a pretext to encounter Tez. To explain that day in the work-room and to have my heart, if not salved, at least free of debt.

How did I manage an empire, and achieve such blunders as this?

I saw her, yes. She came to meet the mule-train as you would expect. And while the muleteers deployed their beasts for sheer-legs to heave the blocks straight on the ship that she had waiting, perfect efficiency, and I scrambled off that sawback saddle trying to find something that resembled courtly command of my legs, and wondering if my hair resembled a mud-lark’s nest, I had a very good view.

Of Tez’s back.

I would have known it across the River’s width. Brown worker’s leggings, nondescript shirt, straw Korite hat. The carriage, the gestures, the shape that is scribed on me bone-marrow deep. Dhe help me, Tellurith. You have seizin of both your men. How long since you knew that sensation, the molten dart that goes clean through you at the sight, the recognition of one beloved?

But not possessed.

I ought to have known better. I ought to have read that back the way any woman of Iskarda would, the way it was so carefully meant. But like any blundering male I dropped the  reins and made my way over, and positioned myself at Hassa the train-leader’s elbow. Looking full at Tez.

She did not break her sentence, let alone stutter, far be it from blush. She heard the reply, and disposed of the topic. Before she turned her eyes and enquired, “Yes?”

I have been snubbed by emperors. Lacking that armor, I would still have answered, “I need to see you a moment, Ruand, before I leave.”

She has fleshed out since we came back, Tellurith. The circles have filled in under her eyes, her hair is almost long enough to plait, the ends lightened, so in sunlight it glitters almost bronze. And crowsfeet frame her eyes’ golden-brown in patterns of brown and brown, like the brocade of a pheasant’s breast. I can imagine now the quick-moving, compact, lithely balanced Navy-officer on her own ship’s deck.

It was how she led me crossways through the dockside mess and into the shack with bills of lading and the rest of it spiked to the dusty walls, and the sun laying grids across the tangled desk. Where she turned about, armored in her position as in that sun-glare, repeating, “Yes?”

I said, “It was not what you think.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The day in my work-room. It was not what you think, lady Tez—”

She made one brutal gesture, a hand-sweep, almost a fist. “I’ve told you not to call me that!”

“I beg your pardon—Tez. But I must tell you—”

“Is this about Amberlight?”

“No—Tez, this is about—”

“I have work to do, lord Tanekhet.”

I was between her and the doorway and that voice, that face, armored in indifference harder than contempt, drove me clear out of my wits. I did what I have never done to a woman in my life. I caught her by the wrist.

Her reaction was Navy-trained and Navy fast. A wrench forward with that arm and the other palm chopping across my wrist, a handful of shirt with a jerk whose ferocity I never knew a woman possessed and a tiger’s snarl right in my face.

“Don’t you dare!”

I should think I probably yelped.

She threw me off. With all the pent up rage of Iskarda, and Amberlight, and Dhasdein, I make no doubt, of imprisonment and war and being left wounded in enemy hands, and having to fettle stupid men’s independence ever since. And probably some of it for Asaskian, in one way or another. After all, she knew about the rape.

“Get away from me.” By then she was almost whispering. “Away,” came out long drawn and low as the rasp of an unsheathed knife. “Get out of my office. Get on that ship. Do what you’re wanted for. Get out!”

Here, in the privacy of this—letter, memoir, confession, whatever on earth it is—with time to over skin the wounds, I can admit I deserved it. I bungled the thing completely. I lost my courtier’s poise and lacked the barest wits to mention Amberlight first. I will not—as I have heard so many men—claim it was her attitude, her disgust with any man, she is probably a woman-lover, it was all her fault. For all I know, she may love women. It happened, in Amberlight’s Navy, often enough. Does that change this—this thrall, this spell, this impossible unbreakable enamourment?

Ah, Tellurith. I hope, I hope and pray things go well upRiver. I would not wish this heart-load on anyone else.

#

No doubt I should report on Amberlight.

Firstly, then, would you believe that when the Quarter and the City ignited round them that day, your revolutionary had no god’s voice to follow? Do you know what she used instead?

She told me, that first evening we talked together, new lines smoothing out into the sheen, the vision’s light, as she set down her winecup and laughed across the lamplight at me. “Listen to the qherrique? Know what to say next? Mother, no! I just pretended I was Tellurith!”

My lady world-founder. You seed visions, in most earnest truth.

It does cheer me to report that we can work together. That if she has no awe of me—and I must seem old as god to her—she has no resentment or suspicion either. I am yours. I am from Iskarda. It is voucher enough.

And I have been of use. I bought my place with the commune the first morning, over a newly snared creature of the Empress’s. Whom I counseled they send back downstream with a solid flea in his ear and a warning in my own words to have more respect for what they were dealing with.

If the Empress does not hear, I am very sure Antastes will.

Thence I have expanded to political adviser. They want a constitution, and none of them, from the cobbler who heads Main Quay section to the Diaman clanswoman who stands for Uphill, has the faintest idea of legal affairs. So I have been conscripted to pen and ink again, and endless hours in the assembly chambers—a warehouse just below Exchange Square—where they quarrel over political terminology. There, indeed, I have earned my keep, using skills honed these thirty years: to ease the meeting, to clarify the clumsy and anticipate the trouble-makers, and work always to the hidden purpose’s will.

Have no fear, Tellurith. If it is your vision I shape, believe me, it is with your eyes, or at least Dhanissa’s eyes, that I try to see.

I have already suggested stratagems for her trouble-makers in the full assembly. If I know all the ways to rig a council-meet, why not use them? It gives me a twisted pleasure, I must admit, to use them against the men. Have I become a traitor, not only to my nation, but to my kind?

It is not inconceivable—it would not be inconceivable, if I stayed, that they would give me an assembly-seat. I have been slumming with Dhanissa in River Quarter, and I can hit the right note, it may surprise you to learn, with rice-diggers and stevedores. Especially at the moment, when I carry the mantle of your passing, atop the mythical air of Iskarda.

And there has been no word from Upriver. Your first letter, yes, with the cutter that overtook you on the way to Cataract, but nothing else. Including my freighter, that should have been back half a moon ago.

#

Well. The River-game has opened, Tellurith.

They showed me the letter in the unofficial council-chamber, between dusty barrel-stands and deep-stained watermarks on the old paven floor. All properly rolled, stamped and sealed with the big red rams’ horns that I know so well: an official communique. From the President of the Families, conveying the will of Verrain.

Which is to protest previous illegal annexation, and reclaim the lands and town of Marbleport.

To be sure, nothing you would not expect. I was able to convey that, at least.

“So,” I said, and pushed the scroll delicately away amid the draft-scraps and half-trimmed pens. “How very—usual.”

The cobbler’s eyes bugged. But Ferrias—a most disrespectful infant, Ferrias—I am almost sure Ferrias smothered a laugh under that sneeze.

While Dhanissa—the River-lord aid me, Dhanissa looked at me as if I truly were the River-lord, and demanded, “What’s usual?”

“Verrain has declared against us.” I made it sound everyday. The wretched children have troubles enough. “It may be the House-heads’ influence. More likely Shuya finally hopes to recoup from Riversrun. That was,” nor do they have any idea of history, “the bad war they had Downriver. When they lost half a province to Dhasdein. And Verrain’s first concern is always territory.”

Juiza, the Uphill delegate, was also troublecrew. “So they think we’re weaker,” she said.

“Madam, Amberlight itself was never stronger than Dhasdein. But in a word—they have watched events, and decided you are vulnerable; and chosen to open their initiative—officially.”

Dhanissa has the Amberlight eyes. When they open like that, they are uncannily reminiscent of Asaskian.

“Officially?”

“On the diplomatic level. Notes, demands, embassies. They may be prepared to negotiate. Or merely to proceed with caution. You are still an unknown quantity. And . . . there is Iskarda.”

Dhanissa’s pupils dilated. Now she understood.

“Iskarda can’t do without Marbleport!”

“No,” I said.

They all broke out then. You may supply the most yourself: they were free of women’s rule, they were the new Amberlight, what did Marbleport matter to them, they had neither debt nor obligation to Iskarda. Combated, the cobbler and his two Downhill cronies grew abusive. Ferrias and the Far Quay women bawled back at them. Dhanissa, as is her custom, watched and waited, Juiza rattled her fingers on the table. Watching me.

She has a good eye for body-talk. Just as I drew breath she bawled into the riot, “Shaddup!”

They stopped in sheer shock. I inclined my head to her—a gracious ally—and said, “Your ties to Iskarda are irrelevant.”

The cobbler started to bay. I stared at him.

“What matters,” I said, when he looked down, “is that Verrain sent the note to you.”

Dhanissa said, “You mean they think we’re connected?”

“I mean they are asking you: Will you back your allies? Can you hold this territory? Are you a River power or not?”

And as they gaped, I finished in the voice I would use to silence Antastes.

“If the answer to any of those is, No, then they will walk over you.”

It was Dhanissa who stirred first. Looking round the silenced faces—the cobbler was swallowing—before she said formally, “Envoy, advise us. What should we do next?”

What would you have had me say, Tellurith? Omens, dreams, guidance we may have, but without light-guns and ships we are a toothless wolf. Yet we cannot let Shuya think she has carried her bluff.

Any more than we can cede her the dispute’s rudder, and the choice of mode; whether by diplomatic note, or open warfare, or less—officially.

I requested a night’s thinking time. Superfluous, I can, I have threaded such dances in my sleep. But there is a protocol here as for everything, and we could not send the envoy back at once. One cannot, as you well know, appear browbeaten outright. I will admit I wanted another consultation as well.

Perhaps I was too sure, too confident. Perhaps there are factors I know nothing about. Perhaps it only answers when you ask from personal need.

In which case I do not understand this, Tellurith. The River-lord knows, my need is desperate enough, my own hopes are committed to Iskarda. And clearly, now, Verrain reads Iskarda as part of Amberlight. It has answered before. It did answer. Why, this time, will it not favor me?

It is not as if, given another choice, I would still take the path I understand, the only path, without that choice, that is open to me. The Gods know, it is dirty and perilous. I understand that. Given another choice I would take that willingly, thankfully.

But I do not have another choice.

Has this happened to you, Tellurith? Do you know the impact of that double betrayal? I only hope you have not to bear heart’s hurt as well.

#

When we met next morning, I gave the unofficial assembly the rest of my plan.

“We send an official reply. Official notice of reception. Official puzzlement. The President’s scribe appears to have used some confusing vocabulary. The President’s message is disordered. We are unsure what Verrain means.”

Dhanissa stared. Ferrias did burst out laughing. Juiza’s eyes narrowed. She said, “Why are we making time?”

“Because,” I answered, “if we go to war with Verrain, we will lose.”

Even the cobbler found that clear enough.

You know its truth, Tellurith. No trained troops, let alone Navy folk, what sort of resources? And if Shuya calls on them, the House-heads will be a goldmine of internal intelligence. If it comes to military contest, Amberlight is dead.

So why does Shuya simply not take Marbleport?

I wish to all the gods I could discuss this with you. You know the old fox as well if not better than I. She is canny, she can be ruthless, she knows the Forty like the lines in her own hand. Is she unsure what you may have left in Iskarda? Or what new prodigy might surface in Amberlight? The gods know, that might give pause to anyone. Is there disaffection in Assuana, or does she fear we might incite some? Or is something building in Dhasdein? I never felt such want for intelligencers. This is worse than dancing a sword-ring blind.

Or is she waiting to see what comes downRiver from Cataract? To know that you are captive, the Quest ended, and she can take Amberlight in the pincers with Cataract and quarrel over the kill, dismissing Iskarda?

Or is her main quarry really Iskarda? Is Amberlight the stalking horse, and she means to cut Iskarda’s wind at a stroke, and like Damas, quietly strangle us?

Is Amberlight’s resistance, then, and intervention, and inveigling into an unwinnable war, the side-dish rather than the banquet-plate?

Or, perhaps—

This is something you could tell me, the Adversary take the chance that leaves you beyond hearing this last, this all-resolving question—

How old is Shuya’s statuette?

#

I did learn the answer to that. There are women here who were shapers in old Amberlight, and Juiza found me someone who worked on Shuya’s piece.

It will wane sometime at the closure of this year.

Not that this reverses the military odds, but it does illuminate Shuya’s strategy. She is pushing while she can, but not moving outright, lest something new arise here, and the backlash catch Assuana at her most vulnerable. Had she declared war and moved troops upRiver at once, still she could hardly hope to have swallowed Amberlight before the year’s end.

Let alone Iskarda.

Especially with the Riversrun Suzeraine ensconced in the councils of both.

I wish I could explain this to you, Tellurith. I have warned Dhanissa what will be said. I have sent a coded dispatch to Verrith, and told her to explain to Iskarda. I will go myself, as soon as possible. I need to make the clearest affirmation in the clearest way I can, face to face.

They must believe it is a ruse. That my loyalty is unshaken, no matter what threatens, even—

Even marriage to Asaskian.

I have told Dhanissa everything. In truth, at length. There are two blades to this dagger, as all good Archipelago arena fighters understand.

First is what I counseled Iatha, through Verrith.

The River-lord give them schooling to manage it, and intelligence to accept the need, for He knows, it is ramshackle enough. Round up a half-dozen of Iskarda’s best intelligencers, or whatever else she has, and send them down with what silver they can spare, to Marbleport. To meet whatever handy women Juiza can find for me, and slip downRiver to the border with Quetzistan.

It is the plan I had in mind, originally, against Dhasdein. But Quetzistani are perpetually restless and rapacious. So it is worth their while, what do they care who asks them to raid the Oasis caravans?

I can instruct Juiza’s folk. Given the women you used to send against us, there should be no problem, lady Tellurith. A careless raider who drops a few gold fenn, a Dhasdein belt or dagger-hilt left beside a looted caravan, a loose-tongued gossip in some Oasis rendezvous.  The word will fly to Shuya with all the haste of her own lash, because Verrain, and Shuya’s eminence with it, rests on the safety of those caravans.

The other blade . . .

I have to rattle Shuya, Tellurith. The raids will shake her, but they might as easily decide her to make a counterbalance out of Amberlight. There must be more weight in the scale.

And that, too, is easy, far too easy, I need only make pretext to address a known Dhasdeini in the street. Ask the way to a tavern would do. They are all on a hair-trigger, a breath awry and Shuya’s and Antastes’ men would cut each others’ throats.

But if Shuya thinks I have a connection with Antastes . . .

Then, how much will she dare, with the empire enlisted, perhaps already working undercover at her back?

I wish, I desperately wish I knew this letter would reach you. And that it does so before the River brings the news some other way. Because it will run, this news. I have to let it run, or the plan will fail.

And I confess freely, Tellurith, I fear less what Antastes will make of it, than what it may mean to you.

Pointless, here, to swear my faith thrice over. Pointless, it seems, to ask an omen from the qherrique. You were there, that day outside the palace in Riversend. You know—you cannot help but know—my loyalty is yours as long as I live.

Well. We have a long passage yet in the diplomatic minuet. Let be the time to send envoys to and from Assuana, there are the ripostes and feints: Marbleport is none of Amberlight’s business. It belongs to Iskarda. Refer your messages there. If that happens, I will go back, naturally. Whatever the—the personal price.

And with that diversion accepted, we can raise Dhasdein’s shield in truth: Iskarda is an Imperial ally, any threat to Iskarda’s lands will be referred to Riversend, any damage will be answered by Dhasdein. And Antastes will have to save his own face by making good the pledge.

In any case, there is any amount of obfuscation to make first, here or in Iskarda. By what right does Verrain claim land legally ceded to Amberlight, and as legally ceded by Amberlight to Telluir House, which is now the polity of Iskarda? The entanglements will feed a flock of lawyers for months. And again, if the matter goes beyond diplomacy, we can invoke Dhasdein.

If it is using a tiger to expel a wolf, at that point, we will have little choice.

But I would give my eye-teeth, now, this moment, to know what has happened in Cataract.

  © 2010 Sylvia Kelso

  Jupiter Gardens Press

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